


No Light, No Light

by FeckedSpectrum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Lucifer, Deathfic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeckedSpectrum/pseuds/FeckedSpectrum
Summary: Purgatory interrupts the Apocalypse, and darkness swallows them whole.





	

Tessa had been a reaper for ages. She had taken Israelites from the battle field before those wars were immortalized in written legacy. She held the hands of Roman emperors when they traveled to their last destination, one that she wasn’t given knowledge to.

She had led many warriors to their death, but this one was different.

He blinked and made a slow, soft noise when he saw her, looking down. “I’m dying.”

He wasn’t giving her anything. Souls are such wanton things, reaching out with their desires in hand. She always had a script, she could always say what they wanted to hear, but not now. “This isn’t what you wanted,” she said, trying to send out empathy.

The corner of his lip curled, and again he was amused. “I might have left a few billion things unfinished,” Lucifer purred, “But, I don’t have to kill my brother. That’s something I never wanted.” He smiled, as if trying to reassure her. “I’m happy.”

She didn’t want to smile back. She wanted to put to words how dark the world would become without the morning star, but bit them back. She had a task, and it was one that she was good at.

He stepped forward, as did she, placing her hands on his shoulders. 12 broken wings fluttered behind her and laid still, folded against his back. She wished she could tell him his destination. She wished she knew. He breathed out shakily, “I didn’t want to die alone.”

Her hands drew over the planes of his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, drawing his frame into hers. Even subdued, the power of the morning star was breathtaking. He flowed through her like a lightning storm and an earthquake, utter destruction and the wrath of God.

Then darkness.

 

 

***

 

Gabriel was thankful that Michael was still moving. Almost everything in his celestial being was wrong, still and wounded, yet John Winchester’s borrowed and frozen form walked the earth with an archangel inside.

The movement wasn’t too much comfort. It was more akin to the death spasms of a spider after it had been stepped on. Michael did worse shortly after Lucifer fell, but in the long term the outcome would be catastrophic, because Death had a tighter grip than the Cage.

The eldest archangel was as despondent as before, refusing to speak to anyone. If someone dared try, namely a Winchester that had no patience for anyone’s angst but his own, Michael would weather the verbal storm and look up dejectedly with the most dog-kicked expression that could exist in Creation.

Gabriel thought that was alright, for now. Right now, he had to help big brother Raphael patch things up in Heaven, Earth, Hell, and the rest of Creation, which was still reeling from an Apocalypse that was stopped by a Heavenly war waged by Purgatory.

While Creation turned its back so that he could have space, Michael sought out the company of another.

He shivered slightly when he felt that presence, feeling like a child caught doing wrong. A bored gaze raked him over, measuring the weight of his bones like he was prepared to burn out his Grace and take him now. “Well, that didn’t take long at all,” Death said, nearly bemused.

“You have to give him back,” Michael demanded, every inch trembling for daring to ask this when he was not told he was allowed to. “This is not the way it was supposed to end.”

“If it is this way, then that is the way it was meant to be,” Death chastised. “You are very used to meddling in the affairs of earth to get what you want but you cannot change _me_.”

“Father designed everything to end at Stull cemetery. That is His will,” Michael argued.

“You want me to give him to you only to take him back when you are done?” Death rolled his eyes. “Why should I go through the trouble? Your little apocalypse is of no concern to me.”

Michael ground his borrowed teeth as righteous fury sparked out of frustration. “I will do whatever you ask, but I will not relent until you return Lucifer to me.”

“What makes you so sure that I can give him back?” Death asked. Michael stilled. “Lucifer is not a human soul. He is an archangel. A bright, powerful thing, even as wounded and corrupted by Hell as he was. What makes you think I could simply store that, and why would I want to?”

Michael felt a chill run over him from one end of his Grace to the other. “You…can’t.”

“I didn’t say that,” Death reprimanded sharply. “You have no idea what mortality is. You have a shaky grasp on longevity, but you have yet to learn what _I_ really am. When you kill something, it dies, and it doesn’t just bound up to Heaven like an awestruck puppy.”

Death rolled his eyes again.

“I have no idea why you angels call Him ‘Father’. He left you on a mountainside when you were scarcely infants and taught you only how to bite and draw blood.”

"What do I have to do?" Michael asked, conviction beginning to waver. His intent to serve his father was wavering, letting in slivers of doubt. Doubt, which felt a lot like a need to see his lost brother alive and well. "What would you have me learn?"

The skeletal man before him left the silence grow long, unblinking and unmoving. "Hopeless loss. Grief and anger and every human emotion you would tremble to shoulder, but without the human release of death."

"Then you will release him?" Michael drew his brows stern. This was what his father wanted. He had carved his heart twain for what his father wanted. He had waited millennia with pain suffocating him like sleep, the pain a human bears would be nothing.

"No." Death answered, every tendril of his being withdrawing beyond Michael's reach. For the barest of moments he thought he knew what was coming, that once again he had merely too much time strung out before him, each moment promising another barb inside his skin.

But that was foolishness, and desperation. Michael understood what Death had said.

Death was final.

 


End file.
